


carry the zero

by darkcomedylateshow (orphan_account)



Category: Silicon Valley (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Robots & Androids, Gen, Multi, Near Future, jared finally stands up for himself au, robot!Richard Hendricks
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-05-09
Updated: 2017-05-09
Packaged: 2018-10-29 19:29:23
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,511
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10860555
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/darkcomedylateshow
Summary: “Jared wants to keep the robot.”“What?” Erlich sticks his head out of the door, intricate glass bubbler in hand. “Of course we’re keeping the robot.”





	1. shot by both sides

    The rumors were true—the courier had come in and left something at the workstation overnight. Jared was first in as usual, and looked in the duffel bag quickly, guilty he hadn’t waited for everyone else. He wanted to confirm the inkling of a guess he’d put together from cafeteria gossip; that they’d thrown out the final prototype for the Mark 4 android line, maybe decommissioned the entire project for good. 

    What he sees inside isn’t far off the mark. Same waxy face and empty features as the earlier models, muslin clothes tailored to be as nondescript as possible. Barcode printed on the wrist. It still takes his breath away the first time he looks at it—he’d waited for ages to even hear about these things.   

    His coworkers’ reaction was considerably more lukewarm. Gilfoyle unzips the bag in a fluid yank and stands back, arms folded cautiously. 

    “Of course they dumped it with us,” he says. “If we fuck up and it kills us all, we’re easily replaced.” 

    “Have you seen the tape? He hid himself in a laundry cart and then punched the janitor out. That’s some kind of—berserk escape instinct. Crazy for sure.” 

    “Not crazy,” Jared says. “Resourceful.” 

    Dinesh seems like he’s about to agree, but just shakes his head and turns back to Gilfoyle, who’s popped open the barcode plate on the android’s wrist and started looking inside. Jared notices some of the bits look manually yanked out, torn cords stuffed back into place. 

    “You heard the work order. We’re supposed to scrap it for parts and forget it ever existed.” 

    “Come on,” Jared blurts. “We can’t just take it apart. This could be the last Hooli-engineered android in existence.” 

    Gilfoyle looks tempted. “If admin finds out we held onto and modified Hooli IP for our own purposes…” 

    “Gavin turns the firing squad on us,” Dinesh concludes, only half-kidding. 

    “So it’s settled.” He snaps the plate back into place and puts the android’s arm back inside. 

    “I—“ Jared sucks in a deep breath and steps between them, hands clasped. “It looks so human, you two. So human I feel weird calling it it. Have you ever seen facial prosthetics this realistic? Think of how helpful it could be to, I don’t know, burn victims, or—“ 

    “Jared.” 

    “And we haven’t even looked inside it yet! Don’t you at least want to see what the best engineers in the country came up with? Where is your curiosity?” 

    Gilfoyle rolls his eyes, turns around, and calls to the back office: “Erlich!” 

    “What?” 

    “Jared wants to keep the robot.” 

    “What?” Erlich sticks his head out of the door, intricate glass bubbler in hand. “Of course we’re keeping the robot.” 

    The knot in Jared’s stomach unties in one fluid movement. “Erlich, thank you—“ 

    “But it’s your responsibility, Jared, and I will not fill out any forms with the words ‘android stabbing’ in them.” He pauses, then adds: “Also, I get a credit for any research you collect as your department head. Naturally.” 

    “I can’t thank you enough, again, sir—“ 

    “Don’t be weird about it. Just take him into the back room and don’t let any of the mugs see.” 

    He shuts the door behind him. Jared clutches the straps of the bag and looks between the engineers with a nervous grin. 

    “Gentlemen,” he says, “we’re about to put Repairs and Disassembly on the map.” 

    “Yeah, booting that thing up is going to be boring.” Dinesh flips open his computer display and opens up a word game in the browser. “Let me know if you get it to talk or something.” 

    He takes the bag into the back room, a modified closet with a worktable. When he turns around, Gilfoyle’s standing by the door, waiting, words obviously already prepared. 

    “Jared.” 

    “Yes?” 

    “If you think you’re going to befriend—or even understand—this thing, you’re dumber than I thought.” 

    “Yeah, well,” he mumbles, “never say never.” 

* * *

    Jared is certain he never wants to read anything about the functionalities of the HooliBot 1, 2, or 3.0 ever again. He works for so long that he barely notices Jian Yang clocking out at nine o’clock. Over his dinner break, he takes the bus back to his cramped apartment and digs up his notes from his third-year robotics class. He gets a contact for his old professor too, although he doubts he’ll even remember him. 

    So he offers to pay him under the table for any information he has, with a fraction of his already tiny bank account. He just hopes it gets his attention. 

The android itself is far beyond his level of understanding. Still, it’s a marvel to look at — he can’t help but notice how lifelike the skin textures are, how seamlessly the machinery integrates with the flesh. Actually, it makes him a little queasy. 

    It takes eight hours of reading to even lay a hand on him, beginning the tedious process of rewiring the damaged bits, essentially laying down an electric nervous system. The tiny light by the barcode, embedded beneath the skin, starts to blink. He’s getting closer. 

    He solders the last wire to the skin and feels something move beneath his hands. He doesn’t know what to expect when it wakes up, so to speak, maybe a hum of electricity or an automated voice starting up — the last thing he anticipates is a frantic breath of air. 

    “Fuck,” it gasps, jumping to life on the table, “fuck!” 

    “Your left leg’s detached, don’t try to stand up—“ Jared anchors one flailing arm to the table, finding it much more difficult to wrangle a simulated human adult body into place than he thought. His hand wraps around its wrist and he feels, disconcertingly, a pulse. 

    “Whoa,” he gasps. 

    “Stop touching me. Jesus Christ.” 

    “Promise to stay still?” Jared asks, for fear of ending up like the jumpsuit on the videotape. 

    “Yes—who the fuck are you, anyway?” 

    “You’re a lot more articulate than I expected,” he says, letting go of him to reach for his equipment. “I mean—I’m Jared. Don’t worry, I’m not—“ 

    “How did I get here?” 

    “What do you last remember?” 

    “I don’t know. Were you the one with the cart?” 

    “No. Security shut you down after you ran for it. You only made it about a hundred feet out of the gate.” 

    “Where am I now?” 

    “Repairs and Disassembly.” Jared points to the workstation outside, where Dinesh and Gilfoyle had spent most of the day taking apart a massive desktop. “South campus.” 

    “So—you’re here to kill me.” 

    “What?” Jared laughs, immediately feeling insensitive for it. “No, of course not. I mean—yes, they brought you here to be scrapped, but of course I’m not going to—“ 

    “Really, honestly, you’d be better off killing me at this point,” he says, without a trace of humor. “Gavin would do this, just hand me off to some IT guys for their pet project. Do not even try fucking with my system, okay? They spent four days straight reverse-engineering my word association program and it’s — not flawless, but you don’t have to know that.” 

    “Wait — you were — sorry, what was that about Gavin?” 

    He’s not listening. “Help me get my leg back on. I need to get out of here.” 

    “This is clearly a lot for you,” he says, snapping the prosthesis back into place. “Can I get you something? Like a water or a sedative?” 

    “No, just help me down,” he says, not needing help — he slides down off the table and is pacing around the room in seconds flat. Jared can’t help but lean back and examine the spot-on body language, all slumped shoulders and fidgeting hands. He follows him to the front room, where he examines his neck in a mirror, then flips over the barcode plate, testing some kind of sensor. 

    “You rewired everything,” he says, flatly. 

    “We can put it back.” 

    “Sorry — wow. We’re not doing anything. I’m patching myself up and then you are getting me out of here.” 

    “I don’t know if that’s a good idea,” Jared interjects, stepping in front of the set of the tools the android’s eyeing. “See, administration thinks you’re supposed to be dead by now, and we haven’t worked out all the kinks in your system yet—“ 

    “Tell me now if you’re helping me or not.” 

    “I just think you should listen—“ 

    Jared is certain he sees his eyes switch from flight to fight in an instant, and so he only reacts with dim surprise when he reaches for a folding a chair and hurls it at his head — it misses and clatters to his feet. 

    “Wait,” he cries pathetically, “I promise, we’re not the bad people—“ 

    — then suddenly Erlich is standing behind him with the fire extinguisher, pulling him back from the blast by his arm. 

    “What are you doing?” he shouts. “Go turn it off!” 

    “Don’t you fucking dare—“ the android splutters, shielding his face. Jared’s legs move before his brain can, and suddenly he’s standing there with the loose wiring in his hand and a body on the floor. Same glassy eyes. His face is caught in a half-shout, then goes lax, almost as if he’s asleep. 

    They both stand there, catching their breath, and then share a moment of horrified laughter. Then, as they both realize, they have no choice but to move the body back to the closet. 

    “Go home, Jared,” Erlich finally says, pointing to the clock. It’s half past one. “I need you back in the morning.” 

    “Of course. Um—“ he stares at the table for a moment, then gathers up his bag. “What are you doing here this late?” 

    “I sleep here.” Erlich cracks open the door to the back office, revealing a foldout couch by his computer, a case of beer beneath the desk. Jared wonders how he never thought to ask. 

    He wishes him a good night and excuses himself, then catches the last bus back to his apartment. He is the only passenger, the streets suspiciously quiet. 

    When he gets back, even his neighbor’s light is out. He showers and tries to sleep, but finds it impossible to do anything but think about what he’d just seen. The events play again and again, like the first reel of a bad B-movie, until he buries his head in the pillow and forces himself to get the little sleep that he can. 

* * *

    Five hours later he’s back at work. Dinesh crowds into the closet when he gets there, where Jared’s taken up residence — he’s assembled all his notes across the desk, and set up an extra monitor to scroll through the same tutorial a billion more times. 

    “So have you woken it up?” 

    “Not yet.” Jared’s too embarrassed to recount last night. Not to mention he sees Erlich in the corner of his eye, chatting up a janitor at the door. 

    When Dinesh leaves, he opens up the wrist port and looks at the chip inside. The only purpose it seems to have is to pull up a Hooli ID card — Richard Hendricks, it reads, with the same confused-looking face in the photo. The only employee descriptor on the card is the infuriatingly vague Programmer, with no information about his assignment block or orientation group. Even more improbable is the date he supposedly joined the team: December 9, 21XX. 

    Then he finds the console and gets caught up scrolling through the settings. He decides to ramp down the only categories he understands, Aggression and Anxiety, from a 10 to a 5. It seems like a decent compromise between dangerous autonomy and nothing at all. 

    When he starts him up again, he wakes up less violently — just with a shudder. 

    “Richard?” he asks, tentatively, shutting the door behind him. “Are you doing okay?” 

    He lifts his head and turns it to look at him. “You have to promise to never shut me off again. For any reason.” 

    “Okay.” 

    “Promise.” 

    “I promise.” 

    “What did you do to my settings?” Richard asks, sitting up. “I feel like I took like three Xanax.” 

    “I halved your aggression and anxiety. You can adjust it back to whatever you want. I just didn’t want you to throw anything else at my head.” 

    “Oh,” he says, looking as if he forgot. “Sorry about that.” 

    “You’re fine.” 

    “Listen—I don’t need a lot of help getting out of here, honestly. And the sooner I do, the safer everyone is.” He lifts himself off the table again, standing up a little more sluggishly. “Believe me when I say, you really don’t want to get involved with these people.” 

    “I feel like I’m already a little involved, aren’t I?” Jared asks, rushing to help him. Once he’s about to reach for his arm, he stops himself. Too patronizing. 

    “Further involved. You don’t want to get further involved.” Richard’s about to open the door when he stops him. “Just—show me the way out and I’ll be out of your hair, honest.” 

    “Hold on.” Jared grabs onto his arm—he’s obviously uncomfortable, so he lets go, clasping his hands together anxiously. “You can’t leave right now. You have no ID, no cash, no civilian clothes. Where are you even going to go? Not to mention your system is—” 

    “You’re not helping,” Richard says, and pushes past him, into the middle of the break room. Jared prays he can collect him before anyone sees, but it’s too late—Dinesh is already sitting there, in the middle of stirring his coffee. He looks between the two of them, dumbfounded. 

    “So you got him up and running,” he says. Down the hall, he sees Gilfoyle turn around, brow furrowed. 

“Who are these people?” Richard asks. “Am I supposed to know them?” 

    “He comes on a little strong, huh?” Jared laughs uncomfortably, trying to lighten the mood the only way he knows how. “Richard, these are my coworkers—“ 

    Erlich bursts in from the back office, pointing his fingers straight into Jared’s chest.. “You’ve told him, haven’t you? We can’t get him out of here now. We have to wait.”

Richard looks at him, startled.

    “Why?” Erlich reaches over to the window and pulls the shades down, just in case. “They came looking for you, earlier this morning. I lied about it, of course, but they’ll see through it next time.” 

    Jared stops him. “What were they asking about?” 

    “They apparently had requested some — specific disassembly methods. I said we’d misunderstood them. You know I stuck my neck out for you two—“ 

    “—and we’re grateful, Erlich, really, we are.” Jared takes a sheaf of papers from him, complete with blacked-out text and cryptic directions containing words like uninstall autonomy core and vocal processing hardware. He tucks it under his arm and grips it unsteadily. His head feels lighter. The whole room is looking at him. “We can figure this out, I’m sure of it. We just need to figure out our next move.” 

    “Yes, I’m curious,” Gilfoyle says, after a long stretch of silence. “What is your next move?”


	2. tears in the typing pool

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hey everyone who’s been following this fic on tumblr, sorry this took so long to get into your gay little hands. I wanted to make sure the events and character actions especially in the last scene were as authentic as possible. as much as I hate the word “authentic” in the weird (real-life) Silicon Valley doublespeak context it is often used, which imo just translates to doing something your bestest and hardest. but that’s what I did so whatever. 
> 
> anyway enjoy, love u. ps this chapter is NSFW but not very sexy

    He clocks out early that night. Jared's hesitant to leave Richard to his own devices, but he insists he’ll be fine—and Erlich vows to keep an eye on him, whatever that means. When he leaves, he spots him drinking beer in his office with the door propped open, glancing shiftily from his desktop. 

    When he gets back to his building, someone is already smoking in the courtyard, on the edge of a concrete bench—more like a well-carved slab, really, devoid of any personality beyond sitting area, painted a runny orange, like egg-yolk. Lots of the buildings look like this, a cross between kindergarten and an institution. It’s intentionally cloistering, to make you not want to do anything there but go home and sleep.  

    “You’re back at a reasonable hour,” Monica says, ashing in one of the empty plant pots. “I heard about the robot.” 

    “I—kind of hesitate calling him that.” He sits on the other side of the bench, which is a little damp from the rain. He’ll wince through it. “Who told you?” 

    She pauses for a second, as if she somehow forgot. “Um, it was Gilfoyle.” 

    He finds it weird, picturing Gilfoyle spilling about it at the water cooler—Monica associating with any of his friends, really, is strange—but he decides not to inquire further. 

    “Tell me about it. In layman’s terms, at least — you know I know fuck all about the tech.” 

    “I barely understand it myself. All I know is he’s very human. He wasn’t made to be, you know, a talking calculator or an escort. He’s special.” Jared bites the inside of his lip, pondering. “I tried to get in touch with an old professor, to see if he could help. He worked with Gavin a long time ago—Peter Gregory?” 

    Monica turns to him, eyes wide. “Peter Gregory died, dude. About a year ago.” 

    “Really?” 

    “Yeah,” she says, letting out a cloud of smoke. “God, I only know because he was supposed to come back to Hooli. I was on the shortlist for his PA. Then suddenly—nothing.” 

    “What was he coming back for?” 

    “They never specified, but he had been coming in for months, is the thing. Working with Gavin. They were just about to give him back his full-time position.” 

    Jared shifts his grip on the concrete to sit on his hands. “Huh.”

    “So he has to be involved, right?” 

    He stays quiet, staring intently at the ground. Monica waits, then nudges his elbow. 

    “You look terrified.” 

    “It’s just too easy, you know?” he says. “All of this is coming together too quickly. I know way more than I already should. So much that I can’t help but feel we’re walking into something.” 

    Jared turns to her, chest tight, hoping she has some valuable advice. Instead she just loops her arm around his shoulder, pulling him in with a sigh. He looks into her eyes and realizes she looks a little stoned. 

    “Hey,” she says. “Go to bed. You’ve got more work to do.” 

    “Yeah.” 

    He gets up and shuffles down the corridor to his own apartment. Right before he turns around to wave goodnight to her, she calls to him:

    “And Jared? Be careful.” 

    Jared doesn’t mean to laugh, but he does. She won’t be offended — she of all people knows he appreciates the platitude. 

* * *

 

    He deletes the draft of his second email to Peter Gregory, then shuts his laptop, the room rapidly filling up with black. 

    Before he falls asleep on top of the sheets, still in his shoes, he tries to remember the first thing he bought with a credit card. He had just turned eighteen, living on the street, when freedom was just handed to him arbitrarily. He remembers feeling what he thought drugs must have felt like; a stomach-churning, slippery hit of power. Of course he remembers what he bought — how could he forget? New clothes and a working cell phone. 

* * *

 

    “I hope you don’t mind I got you these,” he says, handing him a plastic bag full of hand-me-downs and an outdated Hooli phone. “I figured you may have felt weird, living here without any of your own things.” 

    “Weird how?” 

    “Maybe I was projecting.” Jared feels his throat going dry, swallowing the urge to apologize for overstepping his bounds. “I would feel less weird if you had some of your own things.” 

    “Alright. Thanks.” He lays out some of the clothes on the cheap futon in the corner. Jared turns to his laptop to give him some privacy. 

    “So did you want to work here all along?” Richard asks. 

    “No, I got recruited.” 

    “I figured,” he says. “So what were you before that?”

    “Uh—nothing, really.” Jared mulls over his next words like they’re especially grave. “I was an initiative hire from the local G.E.D. program. They offered to pay my tuition if I went and worked for them part time. Now I’m here, uh, full time, obviously.” 

    “Oh.” Richard finds a hoodie the color of cinderblock and pulls it on. “Then you, um, owe them a lot of debt, I assume.” 

    “Total? One twenty grand. But I’ve paid off an amount.” The words spill out of him rapidly. Richard looks at him blankly — perhaps he’s said the wrong thing. “Dinesh and Gilfoyle, they’re the talented engineers. It’s their passion. I was just lucky. I hope you don’t think less of me for it.” 

    “Jared, why would I think that?” 

    “I don’t know. I just thought I’d tell you now, before—“ 

    “Hey,” Erlich says, peering in. “Can we talk?” 

    “Hi,” Richard says to him. The fact they’re at least somewhat friendly is a relief. It’s not hard, really, to get along with Erlich, after spending enough time with him. How else had he roped Jared into leaving the massive Research and Marketing block for Subbasement C? 

    “Good to see you,” Jared says, and invites him in. 

    “So I heard back about the security cameras,” he says, straddling the chair backwards, all business. "Usually they don’t get screened by anybody, but since the last breach, everybody’s been up in arms about who goes in and out after hours. And if they catch wind that we haven’t, uh, put all your parts back in the box yet, we’re completely fucked.” 

    “Great.” Richard flops back in his chair. 

    “So I thought we’d attempt your approach again, the classic laundry-cart stowaway move. I found a janitor who’s willing to help—”

    “Just some random janitor?” Richard asks, pointedly. 

    “Yes, I just pulled him off the street.” Erlich rolls his eyes. “He’s a friend, and more importantly, won’t talk. He’ll help sneak you out. After that, you have to find your own way out, which presents its own issue.” 

    Jared feels the need to interject. “We’ll be waiting for you outside.” 

    “Which presents its own issue,” he says again, giving him a look. "That is: an obvious getaway van double-parked on the corner.”

    “So that won’t work,” Richard says. “What about the person in charge of the tapes?” 

    Erlich tries not to laugh. “I think he’s probably way above our pay grade.” 

    “Oh, come _on_.” Richard's loud enough to get the others’ attention; Jared feels eyes on him from the other side of the office, but refuses to look back. “The way I snuck out wasn’t exactly, uh—well planned, which is why it didn’t work. With these people—Gavin’s people—there’s no getting through them. Just around.” 

    Then suddenly Dinesh is standing in the doorway, clutching his mug of coffee. “Can I ask what your relationship with Gavin is? You’ve been pretty tremendously fucking vague.” 

    “I don’t really think that's—”

    “Please, you guys.” Jared steels himself not to show any kind of stress—always benign, always helping, like he has to be. “Let’s be civil.” 

    He can practically feel Dinesh seething in the corner of his eye. 

    “Yes, let’s continue,” Erlich says. "My other inside source says that it shouldn’t be too hard to fabricate evidence of your, uh, disposal.” 

    Jared pauses. “And who is this source?” 

    “You know her — it’s Monica. I looped her in yesterday.” 

    “I thought that Gilfoyle told her about it.” 

    “What? No.” Dinesh looks at him, stunned. “Why would Monica ever talk to him?” 

    “Jared.” Richard has to say his name a few times to get his attention, until he prods him with his elbow. “How many people know about this, exactly?” 

    “I don’t know.” 

    “It’s way too many.” 

    “I’m sorry,” Dinesh scoffs, “do you know how powerless we all are, individually or together? It’s not like we can just save the day with _this_ motley fucking crew. We have to use whatever connections we have.” 

    Under his breath, Jared asks: “Erlich, when did you tell Monica about this?” 

    “Why does it matter?” 

    “I mean, when would you have even told Monica anything? Are you two—hanging out?” 

    Suddenly Richard raises his voice. “You’re all too brainwashed to realize that they're  _listening_! Every piece of fucking gossip—every public conversation, it all gets recorded. I mean, who’s to say they’re not planning against us right now?” 

    Dinesh frowns. “That seems a little bit crazy.” 

    “It’s not crazy,” Jared says. “He’s right. Erlich, I—value you deeply, but should you have told two different sources so much? Especially—excuse me—about something as sensitive as sneaking an android off company property?” 

    Then, Richard snaps: “You idiot. I’m not an android.” 

    The room goes quiet. 

    “I was _born_ ,” he says. He starts to recoil with three pairs of eyes on him. “They just—put in some of the other parts later.” 

    “So, like a cyborg?” Dinesh ventures. 

    “Yes, that's—um, that is a word. You seriously took half my grid apart and weren’t able to even tell?” 

    Jared feels his ears, his neck, his entire face go red. “I was—confused as to why some parts were so lifelike.” 

    “You thought I was a Hoolibot, like, one of their robot servants? They can barely make a cognizant fucking sentence! Oh my God—they didn’t try to pass me off as one of those top secret gen four models, did they? The ones they decided to ditch for being a total sinkhole for the budget?” 

    Jared begins to stammer, but then Gilfoyle, standing in the hallway, answers the question for him. “Yes. That’s what we thought.” 

    “Wow.” Richard sits with his chin in his hand, staring out at nothing. “Okay. This explains a lot.” 

    “So if you weren’t built from scratch here, how’d you end up as a test case?” 

    “ _Dinesh_.” 

    “No, it’s a fair question,” Richard says. “I—I think you should know what happened, actually: this company promised me one thing and then ended up fucking me instead. They offered to cover my loan in exchange for letting them put in the hardware. Half a million dollars. And then they offered to pay my sister’s loan, so of course I said yes, and then suddenly Gavin fucking Belson was flying my family out to buy them dinner and tell them how much I was doing to _change_ _the_ _world_. They thought they were figuring out how to improve artificial organs or eyes or something, not—trying to carry over a brain! _My_ shitty brain! And when I wanted out before they were finished and even tried to threaten them, all the fucking technicalities and bureaucracy meant they could literally sentence me to death. Do you know how powerless _I_ feel? I sold my fucking soul!” 

    “Can we have a minute, please?” The words come out of Jared’s mouth easier than he expects. “We can—debrief this later.” 

    Dinesh and Gilfoyle share a look, then turn away, shuffling out of sight. Erlich leaves wordlessly. Then they’re alone. 

    Jared feels a hard knot in his throat. “Do you want to, um—” 

    “I’m fine.” 

    “I’m sorry. I should have known. But I’m going to fix it, I promise, I just have to—“ 

    “Jared, it’s fine. Can I just have a second? Please?” 

    “Yeah. Of course.” 

    The break room is empty. Jared fixes himself a cup of coffee and sits at the linoleum table, staring at the wall. Next to the choking hazard posters and sign-up sheets for bowling league and Great Disruptors lectures, is their Performers of the Year plaque: the gold-embossed lowercase H, made out to Repairs and Disassembly, Block 719. He remembers has all the blocks in this wing memorized, on file for easy recall. That one was pretty obviously useless. He should have spent his time on something more prudent. 

    He opens his phone, taking a perfunctory scroll through his messages. His mind’s so clouded he barely notices when Gilfoyle is standing in front of him, something in his hand. 

    “Ask me why I’m giving you this.” He stares at him through wire-rimmed glasses with that same self-serious look as always. 

    “Okay.” Jared cranes his neck to try to see what he’s holding. “Why?” 

    “Because I think it’s brave for him to fight back. Find a way around the corporate machine. Something we’re too pussy to do ourselves.” he says. “Also, I heard you talking about the security cameras earlier.” 

    He hands him a keycard made of heavy black plastic. “To delete any of those tapes you have to go to the video console. Which my girlfriend just so happens to have access to. Because it just so happens they hand these things out all the time. The fact I have this—that I’m helping at all is a total fluke, understand?” 

    Jared stares at the card. “Of course you could help us. It’s kismet.” 

    “Kismet isn’t real. This is just a lucky coincidence.” 

    His shoulders are trembling as he stands up. "Gilfoyle, this is—thank you. You already know how much this means.” 

    Jared opens his arms to hug him, which he accepts with the same grave solemnity as a noose. It feels good to at least touch someone for a second, though, squeezing hard around his ribs, forcing himself not to hold on too long. He smells of bacon grease and aftershave and maybe liquor.

    Gilfoyle pushes the keycard into his hands, then steps away. “Just give it back when you’re finished. And don’t thank me again.” 

* * *

 

    “Wait,” Richard asks, knees tucked to his chest on the futon, “so when could we leave?” 

    “If we get everything ready in time? Tomorrow night.” 

    The relief on his face is palpable. Richard smiles and Jared feels the last bit of pressure in his head drain. Like everything had led up to just that. 

    “That’s great, I—thank you. I haven’t said it enough.” 

    “Of course.” 

    “I was lucky to have found you.” 

    “Well, um.” Jared clears his throat. “What are you going to do, after you get out of here? Do you have a place to stay or anything?” 

    “I haven’t thought that far ahead yet,” he admits. 

    “Do you want to stay on my couch for a few days? Just until you get everything figured out?” 

    “If that’s okay.” 

    “It’s your choice. Um—are you okay, after earlier?” Jared loosens his collar and sits down next to him. “You got a lot out there. Most people aren’t used to that.” 

    “It’s better if you all know,” Richard says, blinking down at the carpet. “We got a lot out of the way. Don’t you feel like—after you get the essential details, like seriously as dark as it gets, you can put all the other pieces together?"

    Jared blurts: “When I was born, I didn’t cry. I was just—content, I guess. I only cried when they took me from my parents.” 

    “Really?"

    “That’s the thing about me. The thing that explains everything else.” 

    Richard rolls up the sleeve of his hoodie and taps on his wrist, where the barcode lies embedded in his skin. He swipes to the other display. It’s the company lowercase _h_ , glowing dim blue. 

    “That doesn’t really…seem like a useful functionality."

    “That’s my thing now. If it was something else before I can’t remember it."

    “It doesn’t have to be,” Jared says. “You can become a completely new person. Do you have any ideas about what you want to do?” 

    The idea doesn’t excite him the way he hoped it might. Richard runs his hand through his hair, which flops back into place in an instant. “Maybe this is a death wish. Maybe they have a button that’ll fry my entire system the second I step out of here. God knows they have an endless playbook of ways to fuck with people.” 

    “I don’t know if that’s true.” 

    “You’re right, you’re right. There are solutions. I could redo everything. Build the OS from scratch. It’d take some help, but I could—at least theoretically—scrub all of Gavin’s code out. Fix all the things they fucked up.” 

    “I could help.”

    “With the hardware?” 

    “I mean, _I_ couldn’t,” he says, flustered. “But Gilfoyle would probably say yes. After all, he likes you.” 

    “He likes me? He’s only either like, insulted or silently acknowledged me.” 

    “Yes, exactly. That’s how you know.” Jared reaches for his arm without thinking about it, clutching at his sleeve. “Richard, you should know I’m going to do do everything in my power to help you. I’m in your court. Completely.”

    His reaction is not as warm, initially, as Jared had secretly hoped. Maybe it's too hefty a promise to put on someone. 

    Richard dodges eye contact, accidentally bumping against his elbow.“It’s just—why do you want to help? As bad as you do.”

    “I don’t know.” Jared smiles for some reason, frozen in his seat. “I guess I remember what it feels like to be out on your own without any—people around you, any support." 

    “You survived.” 

    “Barely,” he says, and feels mildly upset by his own maudlin tone. “And not without asking for help.” 

* * *

 

    “Look,” Richard says, peering out towards the empty office down the hall. Jared’s almost out the door to catch the last bus when it comes to his attention that Erlich isn’t there.

    “Where do you think he went?” 

    “Out, I guess?” It’s Friday night, after all, and the smog and university drinking crowds seem manageable. He can’t picture Erlich participating in the nightlife, with a partner, or friends outside of Hooli, but its plausibility makes him feel better. 

    Jared clocks out at the monitor in the rec room, then stows away the company tablet at his desk. He hasn’t sat at it in ages. He looks back down the hall to Richard, sitting on the futon, fiddling with his new phone. 

    “Yeah, I’m good. Let me walk you to the door?” 

    It’s a weird offer, but Jared’s in no place to refuse. Together they make the short distance to the other end of the office. 

    “I meant what I said,” Richard says, at the door. "I was lucky you found me. Before anyone else.”  

    He looks at him and touches his arm, which Jared finds odd, especially after Richard’d confided earlier he still couldn’t stand being touched, touching at all usually.  

    “I’m glad, too.” He feels something pulling on him like a magnet, reeling him in closer. It has to be his imagination—because obviously Richard wouldn’t— 

    “Jesus, man,” he laughs, “am I really talking you into this?” 

    “What do you mean?” 

    “I’m not making this whole thing up, am I? You’re attracted to me.” 

    “I’m—“ 

    “Am I making this whole thing up? Because—just tell me right now before I make an even bigger dick of myself.” 

    “I guess,” Jared starts, then stops again, unsure if he can complete a longer sentence. “I guess I didn’t really. Think about it. In that way.” 

    “Oh.” 

    “But,” he says, “that doesn’t mean I don’t think you’re lovely, Richard, I just don’t know if—this is really what you want right now.”

    “I can figure out what I want by myself, you know.” His smile is in self-defense, something resembling familiarity on his face, like he’s gone over this a thousand times before. “I’m sentient.”

    Jared opens his mouth to say something even more condescending, like how he’s not _thinking_ _straight_ about this, or might be developing some kind of short-term Stockholm syndrome, anything to distract from the further point of them standing disconcertingly close together. Instead the worse thing on the tip of his tongue snakes its way out. 

    “It’s just—are you sure about _me_?” 

    “I don’t know why you’re so shocked,” Richard says. “Why would you do all this if you didn’t want _something_ in return? I mean—clearly I’m not above selling out.” 

    He stops himself from clutching at his chest like a concerned aunt, as much as the idea upsets him. Instead he grabs at Richard’s shoulders, then his wrists, holding them in his hands. They feel somehow more delicate. “No, no, of course not. I’d never ask that of you. I don’t want to be like those people.” 

    “You’re right,” he says, “you’re not.” 

    Jared stares down at their hands but doesn’t let go. Then Richard—maybe without noticing? He can’t tell—leans in without any warning. His mouth collides with Jared’s and it is uncomfortable, impulsive, and maybe lasts half a second before he pulls away, apologizing profusely.

    “You’re okay,” he tells him, “I just need to…” 

    He doesn’t finish his sentence. He can’t finish a stupid sentence or even decide what he really wants. _How did you manage to get yourself_ here _, Donald?_

    Then he’s kissing him again and the noise in his head switches off, for at least a second. Richard puts his hand on his back and guides him back into the office, clicks the door shut, sits him down on the futon. The cheap mattress and smell of stale beer vaguely reminds him of getting dragged to college parties, drunk-and-too-friendly girls climbing into his lap. But instead it’s just Richard, weirdly warm and stroking his hair and fumbling around for Jared’s zipper. He's okay, though. He feels Richard’s chin tight over his shoulder, the proximity of their bodies, and understands better what this is really about.

    He comes quickly and with an involuntary noise in the back of his throat. The first thing he thinks of after is the first time he read the word _climax_ in a frothy paperback he found in some long-forgotten foster mother’s drawer. He didn’t know what it meant. Richard runs his knuckles up and down his back a half, one, two dozen times before Jared has to pry himself away. 

    “Let me get you a towel,” he says, and Richard nods, dreamily. 

    Jared finds a clean dishrag in the break room and brings it to him, watching him scrub the bottom of his shirt, the top of his pant leg. Technically he has nothing to apologize for, but still feels compelled to. 

    “Actually, I can just take it home and wash it if you—“ 

    “That’s fine. I’ll just change.” 

    “Right.” Jared swallows thickly and checks his watch. “I should, um—I should go. I would stay but, you know, the others might…” 

    Might what? Find them? Have questions? He decides not to play out any scenarios in his head. 

    “Okay,” Richard says. 

    “You’ll be okay on your own?” 

    “Yeah, I’ll be fine. Don’t worry.” 

    He says the last part so emphatically that Jared believes him, even after he says good night, even all the way out the door. The campus is closed when he steps outside, and all the normally bright buildings look menacing, painted up in black glass. It’s two-thirty—the last bus was an hour ago, and his Uber screen shows two cars circling around the square, then vanishing one after the other, probably picking up the last few drunk code jocks. 

    The next car could be here in fifteen minutes, the icon says, blinking at him optimistically. He can’t picture waiting that long, so he just walks the half-hour home, under cover of streetlamp, construction lights so bright it looks like daytime. They’re building more apartments. They are always building more apartments.

    


End file.
